


Say Something

by Dmochii



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Lots of Angst, M/M, This is emotional, and written from first person, might be easier to read this as "entire work", this not a happy story, unresolved ending?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4279569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dmochii/pseuds/Dmochii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a series of journal entries over a short period of time</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ENTRY 1

It’s getting worse.

Every day that passes, I feel more and more powerless to help. He won’t talk to me about it either. I can’t figure out why. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve decided to keep a log of everything he does in the meantime. Hopefully it’ll help me figure this out. I’m losing him, I can feel it. But how long until he’s totally gone?


	2. ENTRY 2

I won’t bother to date these; there’d be no point. I’ll keep it strictly as notes, for now. 

 

I guess I should start from the beginning. But when was that? God, It feels so long ago now. Like a whole other lifetime. Or a dream.

 

It was probably around the party. The one we threw to welcome him officially as part of the family. It was hard at first, but he really fit in with us. A mixed matched set of idiots. That’s what we were, what we’ve always been.

 

Everything was fine for the first few weeks. Life was normal. Well, as normal as things could be in Gravity Falls. We went through our days like usual. Then it started. 

 

Seizures weren’t something I was familiar with before then, but I’m well accustomed now. It was terrifying, that first time. We were in the shop. It was after hours and the two of us were left to restock. He was talking, he always tells stories to pass the time, about something, I can’t remember what, but then.. he just stopped. He went quiet. Really quiet. I asked him what was wrong, and then then he just dropped whatever mundane thing he was holding.

 

I rushed over to him, hands shaking, as he looked at me in confusion while his body shook. I panicked and, not knowing what to do, cried for someone, anyone in the house who might hear me, to help. He fell to the floor - he had lost control of his own body. His eyes were twitching like crazy, so were his fingers while his arms leapt and his body quaked. Mabel was the first to come to our side, Stan not far behind her. She quickly eased him onto his side after checking in his mouth. She told us to give him some space, and we did. She tucked her hair behind her ear and situated her hand under his head while the other rested gently on his chest. I’ll never forget how proud and thankful I was to have Mabel as my sister in that moment.

 

It only lasted a minute or two, but that first time felt like hours before he came to. Mabel carefully and gently adjusted his body, slowly bringing him up to rest against her as she whispered reassurance. My mouth felt dry and there was something heavy swimming around in my stomach as I met his eyes. He looked lost, confused, and tired. Things I’ve never seen him as before. 

Mabel sent Stan and I away to give him some privacy. 

 

I’ve tried talking to him about it some since then, but he clamps up. I don’t know what to do. The seizures are getting worse. They’re longer and sometimes he pukes. 

 

I don’t know what to do


	3. ENTRY 3

He snapped at me again. 

It was over something small. I asked him to bring out anything dirty that I could throw in the laundry with mine and he lost it, telling me to mind my own business and he’d take care of his stuff himself. 

His room is a mess. I hear him throw things when he thinks no one’s around.


	4. ENTRY 4

I miss his stories.

He hasn’t said anything to me in over a week. He’ll hardly meet my eyes. He knows I know. That I know something’s wrong. Wrong with him. He’s avoiding me.

I miss his smile.

We haven’t touched each other for even longer. I can’t even remember the last time we kissed. Does he still smell the same? He’s getting thin.

I miss his laugh.

He doesn’t smile. Not a smirk, not a grin, not a single twitch of his lips. Like its too hard to even pretend he’s OK. He won’t talk. To anyone. Mabel’s relentless though. Sometimes, when it looks like she’s just about to break him, you’ll see it in his eyes. Like there’s something just out of his reach. But he’s quick to hide it. At least she’s making some progress. It’s more than I’ve managed. I shouldn’t get so jealous, but it hurts.

I miss him.


	5. ENTRY 5

He left.

He’s been gone for a few days. He didn’t tell anyone. Not Mabel, not Stan.

Not me.


	6. ENTRY 6

No one talks about it.

It’s nearing two weeks and he’s still gone. Everyone’s pretending like he’s still here. like he just stepped out and will be back any moment. I know they’re just doing it for my sake.

Mabel saw me crying last night.

It was late and I tried distracting myself on the roof. He and I used to hang out up there and read under the stars. Sometimes out loud. Sometimes in silence. We’d stay out there until I fell asleep or, on rare occasions, into the early hours of the morning.

Half of me was hoping he’d be sitting up there last night, nose buried halfway through one of my demonology journals, laughing at the pages of some fictional beast.

But the other half of me knew better.

He wasn’t there.

And neither were any of the books.


	7. ENTRY 7

I went into his room.

It’s a mess. Furniture is knocked over. The closet door is barely on the hinges. Clothes are ripped and piled all over the place. And there’s this black stuff everywhere.

My books are stacked by his bed. Pages are ripped out, but for the most part they’re more intact than the rest of the room.

It smells like decay.


	8. ENTRY 8

He’s back.

Gone for 19 days and he waltzes right in. He looks awful. He’s gotten thinner. You can really see it. His hair is dirty and all over the place. His clothes are torn up and ragged. The bags under his eyes are deep. But he’s smiling.

Mabel cried.

I punched him.


	9. ENTRY 9

Things are more or less back to normal.

He still won’t talk about what happened before, or where he went, or why he had to go. But he is talking. He’s talking a lot.

He hasn’t left my side since he came back. The first thing he did after I hit him was laugh then pull me into a hug. He smelt like dirt and sweat. He whispered sorry over and over and I swallowed my voice. I wasn’t going to let myself cry again.

He took a shower afterwards. And before I could leave to ready a meal for him, Mabel grabbed my hand. Her face had etched into a concerned expression under her tears. She glanced from me to the door he had just come in from and nodded her head slightly. I followed her eyes downward.

His shoes were black.

Not from dirt, not from mud. It was the same black gunk covering his room.

Stan gave our shoulders a tight squeeze and the shower switched off.


	10. ENTRY 10

We sleep together every night.

When it gets late and everyone has left to their own rooms, that’s when he comes. It scared me the first night, but now I stay awake until I hear his soft knocking.

He holds onto me from the back. I hold my breath while he situates himself. One arm wraps over my chest while the other snakes under my neck. I feel him push closer to me, his legs tangle with mine. I let out a slow breath when I feel his hushed sigh fan against me. He grips me tighter then buries his face into my shoulder.

I relax once his breathing evens out and I know he’s asleep.

I’m glad he’s home.


	11. ENTRY 11

He still isn’t eating. I know he really doesn’t need food to survive, but his body does. I don’t know when the last meal he had was, or, if he is eating, it’s never around for me to see it.

Other than that, he’s been pretty affectionate. He’s always been a little clingy, but never like this. He holds my hand while we sit on the couch. He whispers to me and combs his fingers through my hair while I’m reading. He holds onto me a little longer when we wake up in the morning. He’ll kiss me when I’m trying to have a conversation with him.

Things are going too well. I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.


	12. ENTRY 12

He had another seizure today.

A bad one, a really bad one. He hasn’t had one since he came back. I thought he had somehow got better, but I think he’s getting worse.

It was like he knew this one was coming. He’d been fidgety all day, hardly talked, and would dodge my questions when I asked him what was up. He knew. He knew it was going to happen.

It started like all the other ones before. We were on the couch watching some terrible movie. He was dead quiet. It was his twitchy fingers that gave it away. I could feel them jump in my hand. My heart skipped and a lump started in my throat.

He stood up and tried to leave the room, but I stopped him. I’m not sure where he was going to go, but there was no way I was letting him leave. I grabbed his hand. He turned around. I’ll never forget how he looked at me.

Fear.

I jumped up and his convulsions started. I got him to the floor as quickly and carefully as I could while he let out short shouts and clenched his jaw. His arms stiffened up and his head rolled back while he dug his heels into the carpet. His eyes look dead.

I watched him flail helplessly in front of me for the next 40 minutes.


	13. ENTRY 13

It’s the calm before the storm. When things happen and everything seems to be better than it should be, but you still have that uneasy feeling deep in your gut that something isn’t right? That’s what this is. We did it, but it shouldn’t have happened. Not like this. Not now. Something’s coming. He knows.

After his episode yesterday, he hadn’t talked to me. He was avoiding me, but not in the same way as before. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, he wouldn’t stay in the same room as me, he wouldn’t talk to me. But it felt different. Like he’s too afraid to. Too ashamed to.

I’d been giving him his space. The last thing I wanted was for him to leave again to God knows where. I don’t think I could handle it if he had. And he didn’t. He didn’t leave this time. He stayed.

I stayed up waiting for him like I do every night, but he didn’t come until much, much later. I had figured he was still avoiding me and would sleep in his own room this time. So I went to sleep.

I had a strange dream. 

There was a bear in the woods. He’s standing next to a large pine tree. Suddenly the tree falls over completely black and oozing. The bear is also on the ground. Its teeth have fallen out. The black gunk is spilling from its face. His eyes are gone.

It was three in the morning when I heard him knock. I barely had the door open to see who it was before he was embracing me. I pulled away at first, startled, but he was against me again before I knew what was happening.

He initiated it and I didn’t resist. We didn’t speak. Our voices were silenced by each other. We communicated through our hands, through our eyes, through our breathing. I’ve never felt so intimate with him. Never this close. 

We made love last night.


	14. ENTRY 14

I made breakfast this morning.

He didn’t eat it.


	15. ENTRY 15

We went on a walk through the town today. It was his suggestion. He talked about nothing in particular the whole walk there and I didn’t say much. He didn’t seem to mind. I think he just liked knowing I was listening to him. He told a couple of terrible jokes and I forced out a chuckle to appease him. He’s smiling a lot.

When we near the town, I try to let go of his hand. But just as it’s slipping past his fingers, he readjusts his hand to intertwine tighter with mine. He doesn’t even miss a beat when he does it. I look at him and we’re getting closer, but he’s oblivious from my looks and keeps talking. He doesn’t seem to care. I smile, for real, and give his hand a light squeeze. 

I know he wants to talk about it. But I can wait.

He’ll tell me when he’s ready.


	16. ENTRY 16

I don’t know what to do. One minute he’s yelling at me, the next minute he’s on the floor.

He blew up on me again. Just when things were going well, just when I though we were finally going to get things back on the same page, he flips. I’ve never seen him so mad before. I swear his eyes changed color.

I went to hold his hand. That’s all I did. We were coming back inside. I had been out doing the yard work for Stan while he was there watching me. I finished up the last of it and patted my hands off on my pants. I looked over at him on the porch. He smiled at me, and I smiled back. He met me half way to the door and we walked side by side. I just wanted to hold his hand.

He yanked his arm back so hard you’d think he’d just touched a hot stove top. He looked at me, like he had no idea what I was about to do. And then he was shouting. He was shouting at me to give him space. To mind my own business. He told me he was sick of my melding. Sick of everyone constantly on his back.

Stan and Mabel came out soon after and watched from the door, looking as confused as I was. He didn’t even look at them. He just kept yelling at me. Telling me to stay out of his business. He paused, and I was speachless. I waited for him to pick back up, but he just kept his eyes on mine. His face twisted as different emotions swam across and I bit my cheek. Finally, he took a step back. He rubbed his face and mumbled under his breath. That he shouldn’t have come back.

I inhaled sharply, and he turned to leave. Heading out towards the woods behind the shack. I wanted to call after him, make him stay and tell me what was going on, but the words got stuck in my throat and his shouts from earlier echoed in my head. Mabel came up next to me and held my arm. Stan stepped quickly after him.

He was on the ground before Stan could grab him.

He shook violently and Stan jumped back. Mabel and I rushed over, but the look in his eye made us hesitate. His arms stiffened up and he clenched his jaw hard. He was trying to control it. He was trying to suppress it.

He managed to roll over on his side and Mabel touched his arm. He gave a shout and jolted away from her touch. His eyes lept from her face to mine to Stan’s, before he squeezed them shut and folded in on himself.

He puked.

It was pitch black.


	17. ENTRY 17

It was black.

The same black slime in his room. The same black slime on his shoes. The same black slime from the dream.

And he didn’t say a word about it.


	18. ENTRY 18

’ve been online looking for answers, but nothing’s turning up.

He’s been bedridden since yesterday. Mabel has him under tight surveillance. He’s on the couch down stairs, blankets piled on him a mile high and the tv turned down low on the movie channel. You can’t really tell if he’s watching or not. His eyes are glassy and dead. He hardly moves. And he definitely hasn’t said anything.

Mabel’s in the chair next to him keeping him company. She’s talking to him and she brings him food, even though she knows he won’t respond. She cares about him just as much as I do. When she thinks he might be about to drift off, she’ll lean over and run her fingers through his hair. 

I watch them from the staircase.

I know he wants to leave.


	19. ENTRY 19

He lashed out today.

The coffee table is knocked over. The TV is off the stand. Glass is everywhere. There’s a huge hole in the living room wall.

It took all of Stan and I, plus a call to Soos, to subdue him.


	20. ENTRY 20

He ate today.

It wasn’t much, but at least he finally got something in him. Mabel was the one who managed it. She’s really helped him a lot during all this. He’s calmed down a lot too. He still hasn’t moved much since his last outburst, but he’s doing good. He’ll let a tiny smile escape every now and then, but usually only around Mabel.

He’s even talked to me some. Not nearly the length of the conversations he has with her, but he will greet me with a soft hey every now and then when I enter the room.

I haven’t even tried to get him to talk about what’s going on. I know he won’t ever tell me. No matter how much I want him to.

But maybe he’ll tell her


	21. ENTRY 21

He’s really smiling recently. He even laughs. Not just with his mouth, but his whole face lights up. 

He really likes the movie channel. The family comedies seem to be his favorite. I hear him laughing behind the static hum of the tv. 

Though his attitude has really changed, he’s still limited to just the couch space. Mabel and I take turns wiping him down and changing his clothes and blankets since he can’t really clean himself. He hated it at first and said it was demeaning, but now it’s become his favorite part of the day.

After she takes care of him, he’ll usually braid her hair while she gossips about another boy she’s found, or a crazy new fashion fad she swears she came up with first.

After i take care of him, he just watches me climb the stairs back up to my room


	22. ENTRY 22

He forgot my name. 

I thought it was his idea of a bad joke, or maybe he was just having a moment. But it wan’t that. He genuinely did not know who I was.

It took about fifteen minutes of flipping through Mabel’s old scrapbook to jog his memory. He laughed it off and said it must have been tiredness and we chuckled in agreement. 

He didn’t forget her or Stan though. 

Just me


	23. ENTRY 23

You know that feeling you get when you’re trying to figure something out and it’s just not coming to you? And you’re racking your brain to find out what it is, but you still can’t understand? And when you realize it, the answer was right under your nose the whole time? It was so obvious you completely over looked it. And your heart just sinks because you didn’t notice it sooner

He’s infected.

I figured it out when I was cleaning his room. I thought he might feel a little more comfortable if we moved him back to his own bed instead of keeping him on the couch. I was even talking to Stan about buying and putting a new TV in with him so he could keep up with his favorite shows. I started with the laundry, throwing out the clothes stained with the black vomit, and then worked on salvaging what furniture wasn’t totally destroyed. I had just moved to the desk by his bed and begun clearing the books out of the way, when it hit me.

I don’t think I’ve read through a book so fast in all my life. I went through three before I found what I was looking for. The reason for all of this.

The reason he’s changing.

He’s not as invincible as he leads on. And with a human form, he’s much more vulnerable than I think even he knew. He can’t contract human sicknesses, but I had no idea there were other things that could hurt him.

The page in the book was folded and specks of black dotted over the ink, making it hard to read. But not hard enough to keep the nauseous feeling in my stomach at bay.

Agitation, seizures, convulsions, insomnia, partial paralysis, confusion, hallucinations… Like a slow, violent virus, it’s using him as a host and eating him from the inside out.

My blood is running cold at this point and I’m desperately flipping through every book in the room for a cure. I even go through his garbage and unfold pages that had been torn out, sucking in a tight breath when I find something that might help. It’s not much, but I fold it and tuck it in my pocket anyway and make my way downstairs.

 

Whether he wants to or not, we’re going to talk.


	24. ENTRY 24

I drop the book loudly on the coffee table and he jumps. He opens his mouth to say something, but the moment he catches sight of the book, he presses his lips tight together. I can almost see his mind reeling as he registers what’s about to happen, and before he can make a move to leap off the couch, I grab hold of his wrist.

He slaps me.

It stings, but I don’t let go. I know he doesn’t have the strength to fight me off. I know I can take advantage of that.

I give him a chance to tell me what I already know, but he refuses to even humor me. I tighten my hold on him, careful not to actually hurt him, as I settle onto the coffee table. He won’t look at me. His head is turned to the side and he’s burning holes in the arm chair with his glare.

He might not want to talk about it, but I do. So I start.

I pick up the book I had tossed on the table and flip to the marked page. I begin to read from it verbatim. I start with the name, watching his reaction carefully. He doesn’t budge. I skip down to the symptoms. No reaction. I’m getting frustrated. Why does he still insist on playing this game? He knows I know. That I know everything now.

I put the book down and I watch him. I loosen my grip on his wrist in favor if taking his hand instead. He stiffens. We’re quiet for a moment and I swallow my heart.

I told him I was here for him. That I would do anything I could to help him.

That he could trust me.

Finally, he turns to look at me and my heart skips. But the moment doesn’t last before his expression turns from earnestness to guilt and his eyes focus on something behind me.

Mabel is in the door way, one hand over her mouth and the other clasping something behind her back. It only takes a moment to figure out what they were silently communicating.

She’s known. She’s known for a long time.

 

And as usual, I’m the last to find out.


	25. ENTRY 25

No one says anything.

A part of me says I should just leave. But I don’t listen to it.

Mabel is the first to speak. She tells me it isn’t what I think, but I’m quick to interrupt her.

How could I think this was anything other than what it was? He obviously trusts her more than me. She obviously doesn’t care about my feelings enough to tell me what’s been happening. They’re clearly fine handling things themselves and I should just butt out. And he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t want me involved. That I should leave them alone. That I’m just a nuisance.

I’m slapped for a second time that night but this sting a little more.

She’s looking at me through tears, and I immediately regret everything. I bite my lip and look anywhere but at the two of them.

She tosses something on the table that catches my eye. Flowers.

I look at her, confused, and she explains that the plant is helping him with a lot of things. She pauses and gives him a look before continuing. She tells me what the book didn’t.

He doesn’t have much time.

The virus can’t be stopped and the best we can do for him now is make sure he’s comfortable. Make sure it’s as easy as it can be for him.

I don’t understand or, rather, I don’t want to.

She tries to touch my arm but I back away. She says my name, but I don’t really hear it. He’s not talking. He’s not even looking at me. I don’t understand. I feel nauseous and the room starts spinning.

He doesn’t have much time.

I leave the room.


	26. ENTRY 26

We haven’t talked in a couple of days.

It’s mostly because of me. I haven’t left my room much and, when I do, it’s to escape to the roof or grab something to eat when I’m sure no one is around. Mabel’s been up a few times, even Stan once, but I never answer the door. I don’t answer it until today.

But it’s not Mabel.

I’m sitting on the windowsill when I hear him knock. He clears his throat then asks to come in. I hesitate. I don’t move from my position when I tell him to come in.

He stands in the doorway and rubs his arm awkwardly while he tries to decide where to focus his eyes. I watch him through the reflection in the glass, but I don’t say anything. Finally, he settles for sitting on the bed, our bed, and holds his hands between his knees, eyes cast downward. I bite my lip. I know what’s coming but I still don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want him to tell me. Not him.

He starts talking, oblivious to my silent wishes, and I bite my lip harder to keep from getting emotional. The first thing he does is apologize. He pauses, but I can’t find my voice. He continues and tells me about the virus. He elaborates breifly and fills in any holes the book didn’t cover. Usually, he is impervious to any sort of malady. When he’s in his natural form. But he’s in a human body. He’s been a human for years. He says it was just a matter of time before it happened. He knew it would happen. He knew. He breaths and then picks up. He said he thought he could stop it. That he could get rid of it.

But he can’t.

He didn’t want me to know. But he said it was inevitable. And that he wished he told me sooner. My suspicions were right and he had told Mabel a while ago. It was easier to tell her. She had also been helping him keep the side effects at bay for the most part with the valerian she found out in the woods. So he could sleep. But it’s getting worse and the plant isn’t helping as much.

He’s scared.

I don’t know how long I’ve been crying or when i started. I’m doing my best to stay quiet so he’ll keep talking, but my voice cracks and I give in. My head rests against the cool glass and I sob. He let’s me.

When I start to settle down, he comes up beside me. He touches my shoulder and I turn around. He rubs his sleeve under my eyes and smiles gently. I want to cry again, but i hold it in. He tells me it’ll be ok and then pulls me to his chest. I wrap my arms around him and he strokes my hair. We stay like that for a while until I break the silence.

I ask him the question I don’t want to know the answer to.

he says few more weeks

I cry again.


	27. ENTRY 27

It’s been a few days since our talk. Everyone’s been pretty quiet. Him especially.

He’s been forgetting more.


	28. ENTRY 28

He had a fit yesterday. Another violent outburst followed by another bad seizure. He didn’t recognize me when I talked him down. His eyes were looking right through me.

I knew this was coming, but it still doesn’t stop it from hurting. He said it would get worse.

But what happened last night hurt even more.

I was tucking him in. Making sure he was comfortable and his bed was clean and the TV was flipped on the movie channel. He was watching me all the while. I tried to ignore it and finish quickly. But just as I’m turning to leave, he grabs my hand.

I swallow hard and force myself to look at him. He’s smiling at me with tired eyes. I can’t remember if I smiled back. He closes his eyes and brings my hand to his face and I can’t decide if I should pull away or not. I don’t.

He presses his lips to my palm and a knot forms in my throat while he whispers three words into my skin


	29. ENTRY 29

When he’s not in too much pain or on the verge of having an attack, Mabel and I will play memory jogging games. Sometimes it helps. Most times it doesn’t.

If he remembers anything, it’s quickly forgotten and he goes into a sort of hysteria. Sometimes it’s violent. Most times he’ll cry.

The worst is when he remembers. I do my best not to cry. Mabel does. He always looks like he has something important he wants to say. But then the dementia kicks in and he freaks out, yelling threats and slurs.

It’s impossible to hold a conversation with him anymore. He never eats. He rarely sleeps. He’s falling apart. And he still pukes that black gunk.

I just want him back, like before.

But he’s not coming back this time

And it hurts


	30. ENTRY 30

Entry 30

He’s gone.

It’s been a few weeks since he left and I’m finally able to pass his door without crying. I haven’t dared going inside. I’m not strong enough yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.

He left sometime after everyone went to bed and before anyone woke up that day. No one heard him go. He just vanished. Mabel said he left to make it easier on us. Stan said it was the virus that convinced him to go. I didn’t say anything.

Part of me thinks it’s better this way.

The other part wishes I could’ve said goodbye

I haven’t eaten much and I never leave the house. I know Mabel is getting worried. I tell her I’m fine, but it doesn’t convince her. Things were awkward between us after that night, but I think we’ll be alright. She’s been gone a lot. I think it’s her way of coping. She’s giving me my space, and I’m grateful for it.

Sleep has become rare. When I lay down, I can’t relax. My bed feels too big. My mind wonders. I try to focus on the good stuff, but it’s hard. There’s so much we never did. So much we never talked about. When I do fall asleep, my dreams are a torment. All I see is his face. All I hear is his voice. But then I wake up, and he’s not here. And I’m alone again.

I want to move on, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to. He’s gone and he’s not coming back. I try not to look at things that remind me of him. Mabel hasn’t helped with that. In fact, she’s done the opposite. 

She found something. Out in the woods, buried shallowly under a large pine tree between three rocks, she found it.

A notebook.

It’s dirty and the cover is blank, but the writing is unmistakable. Mabel said she didn’t read it. She said I should be the first to see what’s inside. I haven’t yet.  
But I think today I will.

I press my palm to my lips and close my eyes. 

_“I’ll miss you”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> didn't know if i should just let a good thing die (HAHA GET IT?? too soon?) or if i should do a second part from Bill's perspective. Which i think i will. eventually. To answer a lot of things i left kind of open.
> 
> thank you so so much to everyone who's here and read this on tumblr first - i didn't mean for this to get as big as it did, but thank you so much. It's so encouraging and motivating and just great to get messages tell me how this story has made people feel. Thank you ///


End file.
